


Second Chance

by Severina



Category: Wanted (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-26
Updated: 2010-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-09 18:56:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eddie fingers the keys in his hand, glances from them to the quiet street. It's not too late to get back in the car. She'd be confused, but he's left more than one confused woman in his wake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second Chance

**Author's Note:**

> Episode 112: The Last Temptation AU. I could have not been more shocked by Faye's fate in this episode. I wanted her to live on... and in fanfic, she does.  
> Thanks to ozsaur for being a fabulous beta.

Eddie pulls up to the curb and switches off the engine, sits and listens to the tick-tick-tick of the motor as it cools.

The neighbourhood is what the realtors call "on the rise" or "in transition", which means that despite the commodities broker that moved in down the block, the hookers are still staked out on the corner and your next door neighbour is very likely cooking up crank in the basement. Give it a couple of years and more of the elite will file in with their Land Rovers and their two point fives, and people on a city clerks salary will be priced out of the market, shuffled off to smaller homes in slightly more dangerous neighbourhoods.

Right now it's more shabby than chic, homes fronted by tiny cement courtyards or scrubgrass yards. Further down the street a kid practices on his skateboard; a woman sits under the shade of a canopy, reading the paper, a mug on the table by her side. Eddie can faintly hear the drone of a television.

There's nothing to indicate that this was the scene of a bomb scare, that a woman spent endless hours here bound, terrified, helpless.

Eddie clenches his hands around the steering wheel, slants a look at the converted house. Her house. Clean grey stucco, polished wood door. No stray leaves or dirt on the front stoop.

He shakes his head. This is absolutely the most ridiculous idea he's ever had, and there's no way he's going in there. He's going to start up the car and drive away, cruise down to Mustang's or Rumak and pick up some hot blonde with pert tits and legs up to here and spend the night balls deep in some sweet anonymous pussy.

Right.

He gets out of the car.

He leans against the car door, squints at the house. Fuck, even the doorknob is polished to a gleaming shine. Eddie can't remember the last time he washed his floor, never mind his goddamn doorknob.

He's still hesitating at the car when the front door opens and Faye steps out onto the porch. She's barefoot, legs that are not particularly long clad in loose denim, scoop-necked T-shirt emphasizing rather than hiding voluptuous breasts. She cocks her head, raises a hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The gold crucifix around her neck catches the light.

"Are you going to stand out there all day?" she calls down from the stoop.

Eddie fingers the keys in his hand, glances from them to the quiet street. It's not too late to get back in the car. She'd be confused, but he's left more than one confused woman in his wake.

"Wasn't planning on it," he calls back as he strolls up the cracked sidewalk.

She meets him at the door, cups her elbows in her hands. Despite the heat of the afternoon she shivers, and he sees the goosebumps rise on her arms. "Sorry for shouting," she says.

Eddie grew up in a two-bedroom clapboard with three sisters and a brother who could out-diva them all, so he knows shouting. That wasn't it.

"I'm a little… jittery," Faye continues. She stares out at the street, takes in the blank-faced shuttered homes, tracks a car until it slowly passes out of sight. "I see a strange man outside my house--"

"Hey, I'm not that strange," Eddie protests.

Her eyes flick up to his. She frowns, shakes her head. "No, of course not. I didn't mean to--"

"Relax," Eddie says. He lays a hand on her arm, imagines that he feels the thrum of her pulse under his fingers, the rush of her blood beneath her skin.

He can't remember why he'd wanted to drive away without seeing her. Without touching her.

"I just keep seeing him, you know? The officers that were here said he wouldn't be back, but--"

"We got him."

Faye's mouth drops open. "Oh my God," she breathes. "Is he in jail? Do I have to identify him? Is he--?"

"He's in the hospital. Multiple gunshot wounds. He's… probably not going to make it."

She steps away, scrubs her hands over her arms and turns her face up to the sun. When she turns back to him, her mouth is drawn into a thin line, and her eyes are dark. "I'm glad," she says, voice raw. "It's not a Christian thought, but I'm glad the bastard is going to die."

"Me too," Eddie says quietly.

She stares out at the street for another moment, and he just watches her. Watches the curl of her lashes, the curve of her lips. He thinks he could stand here all day watching her, taking in the way the sun highlights her hair, studying the chipped nail polish on her toes, the bend of her elbow, the hollow of her throat.

"Listen… do you want to come inside? It's chilly."

The question pulls him out of his reverie. The answer is 'no', of course. No. Absolutely not. He has nothing to offer someone like Faye. He's going to tell her that he just stopped by to make sure that she was all right, to give her the news about Pretatorio, and then he's going home. Or maybe to Cagney's for several cold ones and one particular hot and spicy redhead who's been practically begging him to fuck her for weeks.

That's what he's going to do.

"I made cupcakes," Faye adds. "Chocolate."

Eddie grins. "My favourite."

* * *

Faye escorts him through the living room, glancing once over her shoulder to make sure he's following. Though Eddie tries to keep his eyes on the back of her head (and mostly finds them straying to her ass) he also makes his living by noticing and remembering details. He takes in things he didn't notice the day before in the heat of the moment, talking calmly to Faye while the bomb squad worked frantically to deactivate the motion detector. Like the matched prints on the walls, muted street scenes of the kind that can be purchased at Wal-Mart for $12.99. Like the stationary set on the desk. Like the collection of ceramic dolphins lined up neatly on the table behind the sofa.

Ceramic dolphins.

Eddie's walls are bare. He hasn't written a letter since college. And his own collection consists of an ever-growing stack of beer bottles gathering dust in the corner of his living room, but that's because he's too lazy to carry them all the way to the porch, never mind back to the store. Also, there might be a family of mice living there and he's loathe to disturb them.

The kitchen is a little like his though, warm and bright, and still redolent with the smell of fresh baking (though his is redolent with the smell of old take-out pizza.) Eddie straddles a chair, watches Faye dig around in the cupboard.

"I had to keep busy," she says as she places a small white plate on the counter, reaches for the cake tray on the spotless countertop. She slides him sidelong glances, like she's afraid to look him straight on. "Made two dozen cupcakes. Silly. I'm off work for the rest of the week, so there's no one to eat them but me."

"Why did your husband divorce you?"

Faye stills for the briefest moment, then pulls the lid from the tray, revealing a neat row of frosted chocolate cupcakes. "I divorced him," she says.

When she turns around to lean against the counter, Eddie arches a brow.

"He cheated," she says. She rolls her eyes. "With his secretary. I might not have minded so much if it wasn't such a cliché."

Eddie pictures the long line of women that have shared his bed (or his bathroom, his kitchen, one of the booths at the Chowder Barge, the backseat of his car, the parking lot, an alley); tries to imagine giving them all up for one woman. This woman.

"Your husband was a fool," he drawls.

Faye's chin comes up, and she grins. "I certainly think so."

She sets the plate down in front of him, folds a paper napkin next to it before taking the chair opposite. Eddie stares down at the little cupcake on the delicate china, feeling suddenly a bit too much like a kid playing tea party. He picks up the cupcake carefully, looks at it dwarfed in his hand before taking a big bite.

Chocolaty goodness floods his mouth. He thinks he might come.

"These are good," Eddie says with his mouth still full. When she smiles she almost glows, and if he didn't feel something at the sight of that smile he wouldn't have a heart. Or a dick.

He swallows, indicates the remainder of the cupcake still in his hand. "You know," he muses, "it's impossible to be manly while holding a cupcake."

Faye's eyes drop briefly to the tabletop before meeting his. "You're doing all right," she says.

Well… damn.

"I've been thinking about what we talked about yesterday," she says. "About God."

"Okay."

Faye's eyebrows draw down as she thinks, a small frown line appearing between her eyes. Eddie wants to caress it, smooth it away with his fingertips, see her eyes close and her lips part under his soothing touch. Wants to let his fingers trail down her cheek to the line of her neck, feel her quiver.

He shifts in his chair, tries to ignore the growing bulge in his jeans and forces himself to concentrate for fuck's sake.

"I believe," Faye says slowly, studying her fingers splayed out on the pale wooden table, "that everything happens for a reason. What happened yesterday was horrible, terrifying. But it forced me to re-evaluate my life, to… see that life is short, and that we've only got one shot at this thing. I've been playing it safe for too long. Maybe… maybe God wanted me to learn that lesson." She takes a deep breath, raises her eyes to his. "Maybe that's why He brought you into my life."

Yes. Fuck, yes.

He places the remainder of the cupcake carefully back on the plate. It's a nice thought. A nice dream. But Eddie knows he's the guy who can go days wearing the same shirt; who thinks in terms of his next beer, next shot, next orgasm; who sometimes sleeps with his gun under his pillow. Guys like him don't end up with pretty city clerks who wear granny nightgowns, bake cupcakes, and collect ceramic dolphins.

He shouldn't have come here today.

"Faye," he says, "you're sweet. And kind. And… good. And I'm…" He shrugs. "Not. I'm a pig. A horndog. I'll take your heart and rip it out and stomp on it and walk away without a second thought."

To his surprise, Faye laughs. The sound is rich and throaty and makes his heart lurch in his chest. He finds his own lips curling up in response, despite his better judgement (of which he's always had very little, anyway.) Finds himself reaching out to take her hand across the little table.

"You keep telling yourself that," Faye says. "I'll take my chances."

She slips her hand out from under his, raises it slowly to his face. One long finger gently caresses the corner of his mouth. "You have chocolate on your face," she says softly.

Eddie's never been much of a dreamer. But he thinks maybe it's time for him to start.


End file.
